


What We Let Go

by VulcanKissesHuman



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), spirk - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Plot, Spock/Kirk - Freeform, but still some fluff, jim and spock pre-slash, shy spock, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulcanKissesHuman/pseuds/VulcanKissesHuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is a shy barista at a coffee shop, Jim is a regular customer. A Starfleet Au that went in a noir direction. </p><p>There is now a sequel to this fic!:    http://archiveofourown.org/works/10930899/chapters/24315708</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Customer

It was the thirty-seventh time that the light-haired man had entered the empty terran coffee shop. He always arrived during Spock’s night shift and regularly sat on the second stool at the end of the bar. He always ordered the same coffee, plain, with no sugar or dairy additives. It was the least expensive form of caffeinated beverage that the coffee shop provided and Spock had determined that was the reason the human consistently ordered it.

The man did not appear to have a high monetary income; his dark clothing was often worn and faded from multiple washings, his smaller frame retained muscle but was clearly underweight, and his shoulders were tense with the stress that Spock had noticed in impoverished terrans. Spock watched from behind the bar as the man took his usual seat in the deserted shop. He quickly circulated the used coffee cups through the sonic washer before approaching the light-haired man.

The man glanced up, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the edges as Spock stopped in front of him, the antique oak of the bar a barrier between their slender bodies. It was startling how often terrans smiled. Spock had never seen his mother display such rampant emotion as those living on Earth did. He had not realized until his own departure from Vulcan at how much she had sacrificed to coexist with his father’s people. It had taken nearly 6.38 months on Earth for Spock to adjust to seeing the more extreme facial expressions of such an emotional species.

“Hello, Mr. Spock,” the light-haired man said, his smile quirking to the side of his mouth.

The man appeared to find it humorous, their frequent encounters, but he was well-mannered in a way few terrans of his age demographic were. Spock had earlier assumed that the man was approximately Spock’s age of nineteen terran years, though there was a level of youth the man retained, leading Spock to form the hypothesis that the human was possibly still in adolescence. Spock inclined his head slightly, the blue lights of the coffee shop gleaming on his black cap of hair.

“Sir,” he said, and the man frowned, waving a hand.

“You can call me Jim, you know.”

Spock did know. The man had reminded him twenty-nine times, though he gave no surname and to call the human by an abbreviated first name was far too informal. Spock’s employer would hardly approve of such casual interaction with the coffee shop’s customers.

Jim looked up at Spock, his thin face tired but still aesthetically appealing. The irises of the man’s eyes were so vivid that they appeared to absorb the strong blue lighting at the bar. The eyes were an anomaly. Vulcans did not have irises of such a color and the brightness of Jim’s fascinated Spock, now that the man’s eyes were no longer bloodshot and half-closed in pain as they had been the first time that Spock had met him.

“What do you wish to order?” Spock asked calmly and Jim’s face lit with another smile.

The question was pointless, but it was customary for Spock to ask, despite Jim’s insistence on the same beverage. He watched Jim look up at the coffee shop menu that ran through various display screens, hologram lettering flashing in deep blue above Spock’s head. That motion was a routine part of their interaction as well. Spock could not understand Jim’s fascination with the menu options, when he would not order anything different, nor the small smiles the younger man gave him while he perused the menu, but terrans were often spontaneous and emotional in their behaviors.

“The usual, Mr. Spock,” Jim said finally, as he always did, his blue gaze falling to rest on the vulcan’s pale face.

Spock glanced down, typing the order in on his PADD with gloved hands. The gloves were a precaution, as human emotion was too difficult to endure with how often his hands came in contact with others. Spock had attempted to inform his superior that hand touching was not appropriate among his own kind, but his manager had resented having to adjust to such cultural differences. Spock had taken to wearing gloves when working, in order to minimize the unwelcome interactions that occurred. He gave a small nod to Jim who responded with another smile.

When he placed the man’s mug of coffee in front of him Jim took care to accept it without touching Spock’s hands. It was a polite gesture but ultimately useless. Spock was aware of his telepathy being drawn to Jim so that it constantly circumvented his own shields, his body humming with a strange, though not unpleasant, sensation if he remained in the man’s presence for over 16.72 seconds. Such an experience was both alarming and compelling for him and despite hours of mediation Spock could not find an explanation for his heightened awareness to a psi-null individual.

Jim took a quick drink of the steaming coffee, teeth clacking lightly against the rim of the white mug in his eagerness. He swallowed with a harsh sigh and tipped his head back to look up at Spock. On a stool Jim would be closer to eye level, but Spock was tall, the vulcan’s rail thin body accented by perfect posture. Spock tilted his head slightly so that they could lock eyes. It was not polite in terran culture to stare, yet Jim hardly seemed to mind when Spock’s dark brown eyes sought his. The eye contact was something they engaged in often, though Spock could not comprehend why it felt so necessary anymore than he could understand his telepathic reaction to Jim. The light-haired man was a singularity, of that Spock was sure.

“Good coffee,” Jim stated, as he always did.

Then without waiting for Spock’s quiet response, he began to speak. Each time the conversation was different, one day he had asked Spock’s opinion on increasing the warp speed of starship engines, another day he talked about visiting the ocean in the early hours of the morning, sometimes he asked questions about Vulcan, but never too many. Spock was hesitant to discuss much about his planet. Today it was theories surrounding more efficient methods of welding that Jim chose to converse on, as Spock wiped the bar down.

 

“— so I think if I can increase a higher heat, I can curve the metal further and make it smoother. It could really lower the amount of time that engineers spend on just welding.”

 

Spock raised a slanted eyebrow as Jim bit his lip in a human display of frustration.

“You are interested in engineering?” he asked softly, surprised that he spoke.

He often remained silent to Jim’s dialogue unless asked a direct question. Jim’s face reddened slightly in the blue lights. Blushing, Spock realized and felt a warm and fully unexpected response in his own cheeks and pointed ears. He looked down quickly, wiping the already clean counter with a cloth.

“Yeah, I guess. That’s kinda what I do now,” Jim answered softly.

Spock gave a minute nod. Engineering, another piece of the puzzle that was Jim.

“Perhaps,” Spock said quietly, keeping his voice low despite the emptiness of the coffee shop, “perhaps if the cooling unit for the welder is lowered during usage and the heating prolonged with a refashioned torch then the metal could be reheated faster to increase strength as well.”

Spock’s gloved fingers clenched slightly in the cloth he held, it was not necessary he give his opinion, Jim had not asked. Terrans did not appreciate unasked for advice and Spock waited for the inevitable slur against vulcan intelligence. Jim, however, was frowning in thought now. His light hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at his near empty mug than back up at Spock.

“That makes sense.”

His frown was fading, his eyes crinkling and he gave a sudden laugh. Spock blinked, startled. He had grown accustomed to Jim’s smiles, but had not yet heard the man laugh. It was a terran behavior, one that he had been most uncomfortable with as a child whenever he had ventured past the Vulcan embassy. He still believed it to be too extreme of an emotional reaction, but Jim appeared so different when laughing that Spock began to reconsider his earlier opinion on the matter. Something gave in the light-haired man’s tight resolve when he laughed and he looked young and untroubled. Spock considered his earlier belief that Jim was still in his adolescent years and felt he could confirm it now.

“That’s great! Wait until I tell Scotty!”

“Scotty?” Spock questioned, emboldened to speak further as his psi-nerves tingled with the echo of Jim’s laugh.

His telepathy seemed strongly affected when Jim was experiencing positive emotional responses. Curious. It took very little effort for Spock to pick up the threads of admiration, happiness and contentment that radiated from Jim. He inhaled softly, raising his shields further. To expose himself to such emotion, to know that Jim regarded him kindly when few others did…it was too alarming.

“Oh yeah, Scotty’s some engineer at the Academy, but he likes to poke around in the mechanic shops around here. That’s how I met him.”

Spock’s eyes moved back to Jim’s, he had already verified that the man was not a cadet, but it was logical that Jim would meet starfleet members if he worked in the area. A rare sensation of satisfaction rose inside him, he had uncovered another layer to Jim, the man was an engineer who most likely worked at a local mechanic shop.

“You’re really smart,” Jim said suddenly, leaning forward with his chin resting on his open palm.

His eyes shone an almost luminescent blue and the young man’s face had softened, his expression vulnerable in a way that Spock had no reference to explain. He had never had anyone other than his mother direct such a gaze at him. There was something other than wholehearted tenderness there, something more…it was too much. Spock stepped back.

“I must return to my work,” he said quietly, not looking at Jim as he retreated from the bar and into the backroom.

He stood in the darkness of the backroom for a moment, regaining control of his mind, ignoring how strongly it was drawn to Jim’s presence, so strongly that touch was not required to brush against the man’s thoughts. Even with Spock’s shielding and vulcan training it happened. Never had anyone raised such contradictions in him, his vulcan upbringing encouraged distance, even as his mind hummed for closeness. His telepathy longed to reach Jim, to understand the man’s emotions, to feel whatever it was that Jim was feeling to cause him to look at Spock in such a way. With only the faintest hint of irritation Spock pushed such thoughts aside. It was irrelevant how Jim looked at him, what mattered was his ability to do his work.

When he returned to the bar area Jim was draining the last of his now cold coffee, sliding the mug a few inches in Spock’s direction. His expression was tentative, unlike the confidence he usually embodied. Spock reached for the mug, picking it up by the handle, feeling where the light-haired man’s hands had warmed the ceramic, seeing the imprint of Jim’s mouth on the rim of the cup.

Jim was standing, reaching for his money, he placed a credit chip down and shook his head as Spock opened his mouth to protest. This too was a ritual between them now, Spock was adamant that he not accept any extra payment but Jim was exceedingly stubborn, despite his limited income.

“Keep the change,” Jim stated, his tone just shy of an order.

Spock chose to accept this time with a small nod, aware that another customer was entering the coffee shop. Other times he argued quietly, but it did not matter. Jim would not be swayed from his own illogical behavior. With a triumphant smile Jim left and Spock turned to take the order of another customer.


	2. The Cadet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooo...plotbunny has come hopping in here!

“Your work shows that you’re a bit of a overachiever.”

Captain Pike was calm but interested, thumbing the screen of the PADD Spock had given him. Spock said nothing, remaining where he was standing, hands clasped behind his back, his red cadet uniform feeling stiff against his skin compared to the Vulcan robes he had once worn. Pike glanced up at him, the captain’s face creasing in a small smile.

“You can sit down, Spock. You’ve been on your feet all night working, haven’t you?”

Spock allowed his eyebrow to raise in response.

“As I have listed my working hours on my report, I see no need to confirm what has already previously been stated.”

Pike gave a small smile, shaking his head and tossing the PADD onto the top of his desk.

“I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to hear of a Vulcan joining starfleet, but you’ve done excellent, on campus and off.”

He leaned forward and waved at Spock to be seated. Spock hesitated, then gracefully sat in one of the chairs in front of Pike’s desk.

“I’m going to be blunt about this, Tarlos thinks he has a trace on the boy, and he thinks that it’s the suspect that you’ve been watching.”

A strange uneasiness tightened in Spock’s stomach. He remained expressionless, speaking only when it became clear that Pike was waiting for him to.

“Captain, I have already verified that the man under my surveillance is not a direct match with the identity information that I received.”

Pike shook his head.

“Spock, you’ve given me enough description that I’m positive this is James Kirk. Besides, eye color can be changed if you’re desperate enough.”

Spock looked away briefly, recalling the first time Jim had entered the coffee shop, his eyes wet and bloodshot, in obvious pain.

“I must ask again why the academy has an interest in Kirk’s whereabouts.”

Pike sighed, leaning back and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Kirk’s sixteen, he’s been missing for nearly four months. The last contact we had said he was in the area. Now he may not have done anything wrong, but he’s a missing child. His mother and stepfather are frantic to have him back, but older children are harder to find than younger ones. And he is George Kirk’s son. Starfleet owes it in memory of his father to get that kid back home.”

Spock’s mouth tightened slightly. Sixteen. Younger than he had thought, but not surprising. The different eye color had delayed him from reporting earlier, but he had never truly believed that his Jim wasn’t whom Pike was searching for.

“You’ve given enough information about him, Tarlos is ready to move on this tonight, and he wants you there.”

Spock twitched in a way that was barely perceptible.

“Permission to decline, Sir?” he asked softly and knew it was useless when Pike shook his head, eyes full of questions.

Spock stayed quiet, his eyes staring at a point a little above Pike’s head.

“Spock, you’ve been working a thankless night job at some damn coffee shop and then been on the academy fast-track program during the day. I don’t know how you get time to sleep, or the willpower to not get addicted to all that caffeine you’re working around.”

He pointed a finger at Spock, leaning over his desk.

“I asked you to take that job, to keep an eye out for Kirk, he’s been there thirty…”

“Thirty-nine,” Spock supplied automatically.

Pike nodded.

“Thirty-nine times. I don’t blame you for not recognizing him. The last picture we had of him he was twelve, but we think he’s a match for sure now. I know you’re just a cadet, I didn’t want to involve you but Tarlos insisted and well…it takes a genus to find another genus. Kirk found you. All Tarlos is going to do is return him to his family. Its too dangerous for runaways in the city, we’re lucky we found him before he took off for space.”

Spock let his gaze lower, meeting Pike’s.

“Captain, I have not been officially assigned to your crew, nor am I working within the law enforcement as Lieutenant Tarlos is. My presence is not needed.”

Pike sighed, lowering his graying head for a moment before looking back up at Spock.

“Kirk is a smart kid, and Tarlos is clumsy. Jim will probably catch wind of what’s going on, Tarlos wants you there because he knows that Kirk will go to you.”

Something akin to a phantom pain seeped inside Spock’s very bones, he narrowed his eyes.

“You are suggesting that I betray his trust?”

Pike made a sharp noise of frustration, pushing up from his chair and placing both palms on his desk, staring at Spock.

“He’s a runaway, not some goddamn criminal! Tarlos isn’t going to throw him in jail. And I highly doubt that Kirk trusts you, from what the law enforcement in Iowa says, he doesn’t trust anyone.”

Anger was a human emotion, one that Pike was expressing freely, but Spock felt his own dissatisfaction with the situation rising. He knew what the right thing to do was, but Jim would not understand. His Jim would consider it betrayal. With firm control Spock put aside such thoughts. Logic dictated that there could be no emotions regarding the circumstances surrounding the case. Spock had agreed to help Pike find the runaway Kirk, had even sought employment in order to make contact with Kirk. He had not expected that after months of his reporting, action would suddenly occur, or that his emotional response to such news would be so uncertain.

He stood.

“Very well, please inform me of Tarlos’s plan.”

He kept his voice even, but perhaps something of his hidden emotional state was apparent because Pike winced and sat back down heavily. The plan was hardly innovative but Spock had no doubt it would be efficient. When he turned to leave Pike called him back, Spock half-turned in the door.

“Spock, I know you’ve grown fond of Jim. But he’s got to return to his family. That’s where he belongs.”

Fondness…such a thought had not occurred to Spock. It was unvulcan like to experience fondness for those outside familial or mating bonds. And yet…he could not deny it.


	3. The Runaway

It was dark and cold outside. Though the streets in San Francisco were lit by soft glowing lamps that hung several meters in the air they were spaced far apart and many floated unlit, having been damaged by the cities less reputable citizens. Spock stood in the near darkness, his heavy cloak, one of his few possessions from Vulcan, pulled over his black work uniform. His hands were numb with cold as he did not have his gloves with him. To maintain optimal blood circulation, Spock kept his hands covered, fingers fumbling over the small pack of credits in his left pocket.

He had collected the credits earlier that day, the sum total equivalent to his pay for the last month of his employment. His manager had disliked that Spock had chosen to discontinue working at the coffee shop, but there was no point in continuing employment there now that Spock’s objective of finding James Kirk had been fulfilled.

As it was, Jim had not appeared yet and it seemed likely that he would not. For all the casual ease Jim had displayed in conversations, Spock had known the youth was cautious for a human. He had been careful to never give personal information, an age, or a surname.

The coffee shop behind Spock gleamed with its blue interior lights. it was undoubtedly warmer inside than outdoors, but Spock could put aside his physical reaction to the less than favorable temperature, repressing his body’s need to shiver. Tarlos had requested he wait outside the shop to apprehend Jim if the man appeared. However, as the night continued to pass, it seemed highly unlikely that Jim would come.

After another hour of waiting Spock’s heightened hearing picked up the distant sounds of running feet, separate from the few city inhabitants who had straggled past him in the last 3.63 hours. Spock waited motionless, listening, his head angled towards the sound. It became sharper, more distinct, he turned, looking behind him, watching as Jim burst down the street, the yellow floating lights glinting off his shadowy form, far enough away that Spock could be mistaken, but no. It was Jim. The light-haired teenager skidded to a stop in front of Spock, panting, eyes wide.

“Spock!” he gasped out, glancing roughly over his shoulder.

Spock could not see or hear anyone else nearby, but he knew that Tarlos would be following Jim, perhaps with other members of law enforcement. Spock’s only requirement for the plan to succeed was to delay Jim, to keep him in the coffee shop until Tarlos arrived and could escort Jim back to his family.

“Spock, can I—”

“Jim,” Spock interrupted, not knowing what prompted him to say the light-haired youth’s name, but needing to.

In the darkness the cool and warm-toned lights from the shop and the floating streetlights reflected in Jim’s blue eyes. His head had jerked up at Spock’s voice, eyes wide. He stepped back, a shadow crossing over his expression, tightening it to a blankness worthy of a vulcan.

“You’re with them,” he stated harshly.

Spock did not need further clarification. He nodded. Jim stared at him, his breath coming harshly now. He seemed both terribly young and terribly old, a fascinating contradiction that Spock found himself wanting to reach for. He stepped away instead.

“Jim, you must return to your family. They have requested—”

“Fuck you!” Jim snarled, his face twisting, his eyes bright with unshed wetness.

Tears. Spock wondered distantly what was causing them, if it was whatever Jim had taken to remove their original color. He could not understand Jim’s desperation to remain hidden, nor why it would extend to undergoing such a painful and permanent process as the changing of eye color.

“I thought you were my friend.”

Jim’s voice broke on the last word and the look he gave Spock was worse than if he had lashed out with physical violence. Spock inhaled shakily, Jim’s words stripped away Spock’s control, his mind shrinking from the anger and hurt that throbbed from the young man.

“You are not safe on your own, Jim—”

Again his words were cut off, Jim spinning at a distant sound than turning to glare at him.

“You don’t know what safe is! I was fine on my own! A lot better than where I came from!” he hissed heatedly.

Spock found it difficult to look at him, to remain calm. He recalled their first meeting suddenly, Jim’s bruised face, his hands cradling a cup of coffee, his voice a hoarse whisper. He had been more diffident than Spock, that first meeting, so exhausted and washed out from something other than a lack of sleep. There could be multiple explanations for Jim’s state of being when they had met, but Spock was now glaringly aware of what he had automatically dismissed, having no reference for it on Vulcan.

“You do not feel safe at home?” He questioned softly and waited, needing a clear answer but Jim only snorted in obvious disgust, stepping backwards.

“You’re going to bring be back there so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

The dejected words hung in the air between them, Spock’s pointed ears hearing the tight sounds of Jim’s breathing, and beyond that, distant feet running towards them. He could recognize Tarlos’s fast footsteps, the man had a very distinctive tread. He looked at Jim who was pale and defeated, the streetlights bobbing high above their dark figures, shedding golden light on them.

Impulsiveness was a human characteristic, it was illogical, and unvulcan but Spock no longer cared, he moved forward, reaching into his pocket. Jim flinched, hand outstretching instinctively to push the vulcan away, but Spock paused a foot away from Jim, his hand extending out to touch the younger man’s hand tentatively, his ungloved fingers connecting shyly with Jim’s. The sensation of the touch reeled through Spock’s mind, a powerful emotive tingling and throbbing surged through his arm, strong enough that it almost overpowered the desolate feelings of fear and betrayal that Jim was experiencing. It was Spock’s first true vulcan kiss, this brief overlapping of fingers.

The sensation of the kiss was so difficult to ignore, his body warming in a way he had not felt since standing on the sands of Vulcan. His fingers trembled, their porcelain tone flushed a faint green as he unfolded Jim’s hand and pressed all the credits he had carried with him into Jim’s warm palm. Jim’s emotions were changing, whirring though them both, Spock’s mind aching to connect with Jim’s even as footsteps drew closer. Spock closed Jim’s fingers over the money, stepping back only because he knew if he remained his mouth would seek what his hands had already offered, another kiss, his first human kiss.

Jim looked up at him, blinking and shaking, as if Earth had ceased its normal rotations around Sol, as if his heartbeat was now reliant on Spock’s touch, and would stutter when they were no longer connected. Shock and a sudden rising joy was rushing from the younger man as he stared at Spock, the blue light from the coffee shop catching his pleasing features. Spock shook his head.

“Keep the change,” he stated softly and Jim smiled.

The footsteps were drawing nearer, Jim flinching as he heard them, the young man craning his neck to peer down the dark streets behind Spock. The look he gave Spock when their eyes met was something beyond fear or desperation. A hard edged look that spoke of nothing other than the need to escape. Spock felt his mind reach for the light-haired man as Jim’s hand stretched out, dropping as it brushed the sleeve of Spock’s cloak. _Touching and never touched, parting and never parted._

“Jim,” Spock exhaled softly again and though he said nothing else, it was enough.

Jim backed up, shoving the money in the pocket of his battered leather jacket. His expression was torn between wariness of danger, and immense gratitude. His mouth moved but no words came. With a final look he sprang away into the darkness, running where the floating streetlights hung dark and destroyed.

12.74 seconds later, panting and stumbling footsteps reached Spock and he turned to regard Tarlos, a short heavy man who staggered to a halt near Spock, bending over, gasping and clutching his side.

“He’s not here, is he?” the man snarled in exhausted frustration.

Spock glanced down the street where Jim had run, his ears still picking up the faint sounds of Jim’s fleeing steps,

“No,” he responded quietly to Tarlos.

Jim was not here, his Jim was gone. But in the furthest glowing streetlight he glimpsed the hint of a shadow. Only his sharp vision and his knowledge of Jim’s direction clarified it as a figure moving fast into the night, running where it wished to, escaping all cages with a wild purity that Spock could not betray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so thats it! please please please review as this is my first fic and i'd like to know if it was good or not.

**Author's Note:**

> totally made all the engineering/welding stuff up. so uh yeah, sorry if it doesn't make sense. but Spock and Kirk sound like they're having a smart conversation, so thats whats important


End file.
